11-04-2020, 07:13 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cormorant+Garamond&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.chasmata_container{position:relative;z-index:1;width:560px;background: #08aa9a;border:1px solid;border-image-source: url("https://i.postimg.cc/5yvnMgTg/oie-l2trl-Ag2q6kq.gif");border-image-slice: 60 30;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px rgb(8, 170, 154,.4);}.chasmata_container p{margin:0;}.chasmata_image{position:relative;z-index:4;margin-top:0px;border-radius: 0 0 0 0;}.chasmata_message{position:relative;z-index:10;width:500px;text-align:justify;font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding:10px;padding-bottom:70px;color:#015b6f;border-top: solid 1px #b69d74;border-bottom:0;border-left: solid 1px #6c5537 ;border-right: solid 1px #6c5537;border-image-source: url("https://i.postimg.cc/5yvnMgTg/oie-l2trl-Ag2q6kq.gif");border-image-slice: 60 30;margin-top:-10px;margin-bottom:40px;background: linear-gradient(to top, rgba(255,255,255,0) 20%, rgba(85,209,194,1)), url("https://i.postimg.cc/sftX2mGz/chasmabg4.png");
webkit-background-clip: text;-webkit-text-fill-color: transparent;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px rgb(2, 61, 70,.4);}.chasmata_name{position:relative;z-index:15;text-align:center;text-shadow:0 0 10px black;letter-spacing:43px;font-family: 'Cormorant Garamond', serif;background-image:url("https://i.postimg.cc/5yvnMgTg/oie-l2trl-Ag2q6kq.gif");-webkit-background-clip:text;-webkit-text-fill-color:transparent;color:#34586d;font-size:65px;margin-bottom:-90px;padding:5px;}.chasmata_title{position:relative;z-index:20;text-align:center;letter-spacing:2px;font-style:bold;font-family: 'Cormorant Garamond', serif;font-size:14px;color:#87eedb;text-shadow:0 0 10px #011119;margin-top:-80px;margin-bottom:10px;}.chasmata_hr{border-top:1px solid;border-image-source: url("https://i.postimg.cc/5yvnMgTg/oie-l2trl-Ag2q6kq.gif");border-image-slice: 60 30;width:400px;margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:-40px;}</style><center><div class="chasmata_container"><div class="chasmata_name">chasmata</div><img class="chasmata_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/G22Q9qDd/chasmata1.png"><div class="chasmata_message"><div style="background: linear-gradient(#023d46, #023d46);-webkit-background-clip: text;-webkit-text-fill-color: transparent;">
She prefers the night because that’s when the world takes shape. Her eyes, which glow faintly the same way the auroras splashed across her sides do, cooperate in the dark. And, because night is the only time she can <i>really</i> see the world stretching out around her, she is uncharacteristically bold.
So when the breeze finds her at the edge of the river, she follows it. Skips along behind it with an air of youth that follows her only in the nighttime hours. She is plagued with hesitation and nervousness during the day when the eyes fail her and leave her vulnerable.
She even grins, the girl, as she trips along after it. It is something small and secret but there all the same. She knows so little of the mountain, too little to know that she should be sufficiently troubled by the figure she finds when the wind finally goes still.
She studies the doorway and, quite naturally, the figure standing before it. It does not move or speak and she begins to think it a mirage, a hallucination, some kind of lifeless sentinel. But then it speaks, asks her a question she doesn’t immediately know how to answer.
She blinks the pale glowing eyes and tilts her fine head.
“<b>Trick,</b>” she answers, not knowing any better.
<center><div class="chasmata_hr"></div></center>
</div></div><div class="chasmata_title"><b>the moonlight, baby, shows you what’s real
but there ain’t language for the things i feel</b></div></div></center>
webkit-background-clip: text;-webkit-text-fill-color: transparent;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px rgb(2, 61, 70,.4);}.chasmata_name{position:relative;z-index:15;text-align:center;text-shadow:0 0 10px black;letter-spacing:43px;font-family: 'Cormorant Garamond', serif;background-image:url("https://i.postimg.cc/5yvnMgTg/oie-l2trl-Ag2q6kq.gif");-webkit-background-clip:text;-webkit-text-fill-color:transparent;color:#34586d;font-size:65px;margin-bottom:-90px;padding:5px;}.chasmata_title{position:relative;z-index:20;text-align:center;letter-spacing:2px;font-style:bold;font-family: 'Cormorant Garamond', serif;font-size:14px;color:#87eedb;text-shadow:0 0 10px #011119;margin-top:-80px;margin-bottom:10px;}.chasmata_hr{border-top:1px solid;border-image-source: url("https://i.postimg.cc/5yvnMgTg/oie-l2trl-Ag2q6kq.gif");border-image-slice: 60 30;width:400px;margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:-40px;}</style><center><div class="chasmata_container"><div class="chasmata_name">chasmata</div><img class="chasmata_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/G22Q9qDd/chasmata1.png"><div class="chasmata_message"><div style="background: linear-gradient(#023d46, #023d46);-webkit-background-clip: text;-webkit-text-fill-color: transparent;">
She prefers the night because that’s when the world takes shape. Her eyes, which glow faintly the same way the auroras splashed across her sides do, cooperate in the dark. And, because night is the only time she can <i>really</i> see the world stretching out around her, she is uncharacteristically bold.
So when the breeze finds her at the edge of the river, she follows it. Skips along behind it with an air of youth that follows her only in the nighttime hours. She is plagued with hesitation and nervousness during the day when the eyes fail her and leave her vulnerable.
She even grins, the girl, as she trips along after it. It is something small and secret but there all the same. She knows so little of the mountain, too little to know that she should be sufficiently troubled by the figure she finds when the wind finally goes still.
She studies the doorway and, quite naturally, the figure standing before it. It does not move or speak and she begins to think it a mirage, a hallucination, some kind of lifeless sentinel. But then it speaks, asks her a question she doesn’t immediately know how to answer.
She blinks the pale glowing eyes and tilts her fine head.
“<b>Trick,</b>” she answers, not knowing any better.
<center><div class="chasmata_hr"></div></center>
</div></div><div class="chasmata_title"><b>the moonlight, baby, shows you what’s real
but there ain’t language for the things i feel</b></div></div></center>